CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

At first it hadn’t occurred to Lin to count the rungs. But the tunnel was so dark it felt like climbing into nothing. Counting made it seem like she was going somewhere. She reached for the next metal bar and pushed with her legs.

Thirty.

The injured arm blazed with pain. Cold, smoky air blew up the narrow shaft, chilling Lin’s stiff and trembling legs. She rested her head against the rock. Beneath, a red circle marked the opening to the parrot cave. It had grown quiet down there. Maybe Figenskar hadn’t figured out where she had gone. Or maybe he knew where the tunnel ended and sat there waiting, like the Summerhill cat by his favorite mouse hole. Well, if he did, he did. There was nothing Lin could do but keep climbing.

At forty-three, the ladder ended and the tunnel split in two. One fork continued upward with the draft. The other slanted to the side, ending in a pink glow. Lin crept into the side tunnel and lay down for a moment, to stretch her sore limbs and examine the cut on her wrist.

There was a piece of glass wedged in the wound. No wonder it was painful! Lin picked the shard out and tossed it on the tunnel floor. The cut began to bleed again, but it hurt less. Encouraged, she crawled toward the end of the tunnel.

The opening was covered by a heavy fabric. It yielded slightly to Lin’s touch, letting in a glimpse of light and the crackle of a lit fireplace. She waited, listened. Nothing but the sputter and hiss of the fire.

Lin pulled her hood back up, lowered herself to the floor, and inched along the wall to peer around the edge of the curtain.

No pouncing Feline in sight. Just a large office of whitewashed plaster with a fireplace, a small chest, a desk with an ancient gramophone, and two doors. Golden lamplight fell on a sign next to the gramophone: CHIEF OBSERVER FIGENSKAR. The curtain turned out to be a tapestry of a white bird soaring in a sky of faded ruby, rose, and scarlet. If she didn’t know, Lin would never have guessed it concealed a tunnel opening.

She crossed the room and put her ear to the first door. Muffled, urgent voices in the distance. Behind the second door, there was only silence, and the wood felt cold against her skin. In a puddle of water by the threshold lay a frayed burlap thread. This must be where she had been brought in, which meant it was the way out.

With her hand on the doorknob, Lin paused. Figenskar had been searching for Isvan. He needed him for some sort of secret operation, something to do with the Margrave, something he said would hit the Sylverings. And here she was, alone in Figenskar’s office. What kind of Twistrose would waste an opportunity like this? Legs jittering, she turned around, away from the exit.

She found the drawers of the desk empty. Not so much as a scrap of paper in them. But the pile of ashes in the fireplace seemed conspicuously big. Burn the evidence, Figenskar had told Teriko. Whatever they were planning, it would happen soon.

Lin found a poker and raked through the embers.

Teriko may have been obedient, but he had also been sloppy. At the bottom of the ashes an object had survived the flames: a small, slim leather cylinder engraved with a bird of prey. The metal top was too hot to touch, so Lin set the cylinder on the edge of the hearth to cool off.

Next to the fireplace stood a carved, wooden chest. Or by another name: casket. Figenskar had also told Teriko to ready the casket. What was in this thing? Lin pushed at the lid, but she couldn’t shift it. She peered into the empty keyhole, but she had no idea how to pick a lock. No points to be earned there.

The final object to be examined was the strange gramophone. It had a black horn and on the turntable lay a peculiar record, fat with wobbly grooves and lined with small glass pebbles.

Lin turned the crank. Nothing happened. She had a feeling there was something missing, something that ought to fit into a small, scorched hole in the side of the player. But then her hand grazed the needle, and with a nip of electricity, it lit up with red lights and swung over the spinning turntable.

The whining noise the needle made as it carved into the disc made Lin’s flesh crawl. Or perhaps that was the voice that streamed out of the horn. Deep and wheezy, it sounded toneless and somehow dead in the thick static that kept tearing pieces out of the sentences.

“Figenskar,” the voice grated. “The prophecy says my elixir . . . made from the Child of Ice. The Soothsinger . . . warning to the Vulpes of Lucke . . . He must not see the song. Intercept the falcon messenger . . . Bring the child to me. On Wanderer’s Eve, I shall have the Nightmares ready . . . From the ashes of Operation Corvelie, a new lord will rise.”

A deep, whistling breath, another burst of static, then the voice was gone, leaving only a burned smell. Lin hurried over to the hearth and picked up the cylinder. It could very well be a message tube, and the engraved bird of prey could be a falcon. Figenskar had succeeded. Lin stuck the message tube into her boot. Time to escape.

She had just placed her hand on the cold doorknob again when she heard someone speaking on the other side.

“You are sure she has not come this way?” It was Figenskar, approaching fast, and there was murder in his voice. “I want her found!” he said. “Now!”

Lin leaped back. She had to hide, immediately. No time to crawl back behind the tapestry. The only way was forward, through the other door, deeper into the bowels of the Observatory.

Quickly, she slipped through into an empty corridor lined with doors. At the far end there were double doors marked as the Observatory hall. Through the foggy glass windows Lin could only see a silvery light with shadows flitting by. But she heard plenty: clipped shouting, airy swooshes, and a deep, rolling sigh, like ocean waves in a seashell. Her ears itched as she ran down the corridor.

Hop, scrape, hop, scrape.

Lin recognized the footsteps. Teriko. She leaped through the closest side door just in time before the double doors burst open.

“Find her! Find the little treat!”

Holding her breath, Lin cast about. She was in a stairwell now, also brightly lit, with winding stairs of latticed metal. Still nowhere to hide. The stairs were her only chance. She climbed them silently, and found another long hallway, a cramped passage that curved off to either side, with red lacquered doors on the inner wall. It didn’t take her long to realize it was a closed circle.

Down in the corridor, Teriko cawed, “Blood on the floor! Boss! Boss! This way!”

Lin’s heart pounded. Stupid blood! Taking care to keep her bleeding wrist away, she opened one of the red doors. It had a sign that said LUCK, and behind it she found a covered balcony cast in shadow. A music stand and a telescope were mounted on the railing, and beyond it . . .

Lin stepped through the crack to gaze out into the bright room.

The Observatory hall.

Above her, a dome of milky glass shone brilliantly, as if lit from the outside by a high summer sun. Thousands of black specks were etched in the glass, some connected by straight lines; constellations plotted on a reverse color map of stars, and Lin found both Orion and the Big Dipper. It was the Earth night sky.

Under the dome, the room formed a courtyard in the shape of a hexagon. High up on each of the six walls hung a covered balcony like Lin’s, with carved railings and plaques marking them as Hope, Courage, Comfort, Strength, Luck, and Memory. Farthest down on the wall of Hope, Lin spied something that made her belly lurch. Another way out.

But how was she going to get there without raising the alarm? The stone floor of the hall teemed with workers. Petlings of all clans sat behind tall counters with telescopes, watching the walls, scribbling in ledgers. Others sorted papers or rummaged through rows and rows of archive cabinets. The air was crowded, too: whole flocks of finches and canaries milled about below the dome.

Wings flapped, archive drawers banged, voices buzzed, and beneath it all was a hum, as if high voltage wires riddled the bones of the building.

Yet the loudest noise, the one that made Lin’s eardrums itch and her pulse flutter, was the rolling sigh she had heard through the double doors. When she realized where the sound was coming from, she forgot all about escaping for a moment. Mesmerized, she walked to the railing to use the telescope.

On the walls hung huge, framed mirrors. Rather, they resembled mirrors, but instead of the bright hall, they showed a blue mist just shy of black. Ghostly, gray creatures moved in the glass, and they weren’t finches or canaries. None of them belonged here, not in the Observatory, and not in Sylver.

For the ghostly creatures were children. Hundreds of human children, speaking or singing, crying or sleeping, with no other sound than the soft, rolling murmur from the glass. Below each child there was a light blue square with a name and a number. After a while, the children retreated back into the darkness, and new faces appeared, like captured water lilies released from the bottom of a pond.

Lin pointed the telescope toward a girl who was rising to the surface on the nearest wall. The girl lay in bed, writhing. Pearls of perspiration formed on her brow, and a menacing blotch grew on the chest of her nightgown.

One of the flying Sylverings, a nimble finch with a gold ring in her beak, wheeled past the girl a few times before diving down toward the closest counter. “Katerina Millner,” she sang to the clerks. “Eight years. Foreground on Courage. Sick, by the look of it!” Beating her wings, the finch rose toward the shining dome again. One of the clerks wrote something in his ledger. Above them, Katerina Millner was already sinking back into the darkness.

Lin let go of the telescope, but she held on to the railing, feeling woozy. The Observatory was a place where the Sylverings could watch their human children! She remembered what Mirja had said on the way down to the parrot cage: I saw her in not one, not two, but four of the mirrors! Could it be true that they had shown her, Lin Rosenquist?

“Lin Rosenquist!”

Figenskar’s voice cut through the din like a whip. Horrified, Lin scanned the hall until she located Figenskar’s liquid shape, expecting to find his needle-toothed grin glinting up at her. But Figenskar had his back turned and was towering over an archive clerk, tail lashing. “Then try all variations!”

Lin backed into the deepest shadow of the balcony.

But she was not safe there. “See you in the Square,” said a husky voice as the red door swung open, and in came a piebald rat. He took up position at the telescope, placing a binder on the music stand. By a stroke of luck, Lin had wound up behind the door when it opened. But now it was swinging back. The rat whistled to himself as he adjusted the telescope. He didn’t turn as Lin snuck around the closing door and out into the hallway.

Someone was climbing the stairs. Lin turned and ran, but stopped short when she heard another pair of feet coming toward her just around the bend. She had no choice but to try the next door, where the sign said MEMORY.

This balcony was larger and flanked by velvet curtains tucked on the inside of the railing. The floor sloped down with rows of linked plush chairs, like in an old movie theater. The seats were occupied by Petlings, none of whom noticed when Lin entered. They stared intently at a slide projector and the guinea pig next to it.

Marvin’s bangs had rebelled against the pomade and poked out in all directions. He was fingering a bunch of small, gray cards, looking quite upset. Lin crept behind the velvet curtain so she could watch without being seen.

“So sorry for the wait. Let’s move on, shall we?” Marvin peered over the rim of his glasses at his audience. “Who’s got Jimmy? Ah, Bonso, of course.”

The Saint Bernard from the Waffleheart got to his feet. “Here!”

“The lad is seven already? Goodness, time flies.” Marvin winked at Bonso and fed the card into the projector, which ate it with a whirr and a click. A dusty beam of light streamed across the hall to the mirror on the opposite side. Out of the blue darkness, a freckled-face boy came floating to the surface, marked by the text box as JIMMY HALDER, AGE SEVEN. He was sitting at a desk, wrapping a present. The tag said “Happy birthday!”

“Will you look at that! Spelled right and everything!” Bonso wagged his tail. “I keep forgetting about those sweet freckles.”

The guinea pig pressed a button on the projector. It ejected the card, and Jimmy melted away. Lin slipped her hand in her left pocket, swallowing hard. Now she understood how Rufus knew about the long, lonely afternoons by Mrs. Ichalar’s rosebush. He had come to this balcony to watch over her.

“This is yours, Sofie, we all know that.” Marvin picked a new card out of the bunch. “You do keep a close watch.”

A pair of long rabbit ears pricked up from the second row, and Rufus’s seamstress landlady rose slowly. “I’m worried, that’s all,” she said.

Marvin inserted the card, but the projector spat it back out. The Petlings on the balcony gasped. Stroking his bangs, Marvin tried it one more time, with the same result. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s a cruel night for it, but the card is rejected.”

“No,” Sofie whispered. Her whiskers trembled. “Try it again.”

“It will do no good, my dear. . . .” Marvin’s eyes brimmed in sympathy. “The projector doesn’t lie, you know that.”

“Just try it! Please!”

But Lin could tell from the hung heads in the seat rows that everyone agreed with Marvin. It would do no good.

The door to the gallery slammed open. Lin’s limbs filled with lead, but somehow, she managed to pull the curtain closed. Hollow footsteps clacked on the balcony, accompanied by the unmistakable hop, scrape, hop, scrape.

“Marvin,” Figenskar said, “be so good as to show me this girl. She seems to have escaped . . . my list.”

Marvin cleared his throat and said: “As you wish, Mr. Figenskar.”

Mercilessly, the projector whirred and clicked. Lin’s ears started to itch, then sting, then throb with pain.

“Is that . . .” Sofie sounded half-strangled. “Is that us?”

An astonished clamor broke out among the Petlings on the balcony as they recognized themselves in the Memory mirror. Excited parrot squawks pierced through the noise. “The curtain! She’s behind the curtain!”

The velvet was ripped aside, and Lin looked up into a pair of inky eyes below a three-cornered hat.

“Lindelin Rosenquist! What a pleasant surprise!”

“Surprise!” Teriko screamed.

Figenskar tore her hood off and another wave of shock rolled through the hall. “Where is it,” he hissed, blasting Lin with fishy breath. She clutched desperately at the railing, but Figenskar was much stronger. He sank the claws of one hand into her cardigan, lifting her until her boots dangled, patting and clawing at her pockets with the other hand. “Where have you hidden it?”

Lin kicked and struggled, choking on the lump in her throat. Her gathered clues and papers fell to the floor. “Help me!” she cried. “He’s planning something terrible! Don’t let him take me to the Margrave!”

The door thundered open again. And when Lin saw who was standing on the threshold, dark of eye and bristling with fury, she couldn’t help herself. Tears leaked down her cheeks.

“Let go of my girl, you mangy excuse for a cat! Or I’ll moldy well make you!”